


say it out loud

by sarapod (four_right_chords)



Series: Circle Game [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/four_right_chords/pseuds/sarapod
Summary: [In which they tell people.]"We need to figure out how to tell people," Sam says, a few days later.Josh is reading about the impact of corn subsidies on the economy of Wellwood, Kansas, and he only catches the end of what Sam's saying. "Sorry?" he manages. It's been an impossibly long day."How to tell people," Sam repeats. "How we're going to do this."Right. The best thing that’s ever happened to Josh that, as a side effect, has the potential to totally fuck up his life.





	say it out loud

When Sam proposed leaving the White House, Josh didn’t argue. He knows in some distant part of himself that he should have, that a better partner - a better person - wouldn’t have allowed Sam to sacrifice his career without even a token protest. But he also knows there was never, even for a second, a chance of that happening. He hadn’t actually believed he'd ever get to have Sam. He's going to hold on to this with his teeth, if necessary, and take whatever grace Sam is willing to give.

"We need to figure out how to tell people," Sam says, a few days later. 

Josh is reading about the impact of corn subsidies on the economy of Wellwood, Kansas, and he only catches the end of what Sam's saying. "Sorry?" he manages. It's been an impossibly long day.

"How to tell people," Sam repeats. "How we're going to do this."

Right. The best thing that’s ever happened to Josh that, as a side effect, has the potential to totally fuck up his life. 

"Uh," he offers, and pushes away a chart detailing how the amount of corn grown in Wellwood affects the rate of savings at the First National Bank. He's going to kill whoever thought he'd make a decent point person on literally anything related to agriculture. "Why are you going to say you're resigning?"

Sam looks at Josh like he's grown a second head. "I was going to go with the truth," he says.

Oh.

"Um," Josh responds. 

Sam's expression is growing consternated. "I thought we agreed," he says, and Josh drags his hands over his face in an attempt to wake himself up. He's not sure. They might have. He's struggling to remember his name at the moment, so. 

"I don't remember," Josh finally says. "I believe you. It's just - "

Sam sighs. "We can't hide this from them," he says, in the tone of a man explaining himself for the nth time. "I won't permit another Laurie situation. We both know this will get out eventually. Our guys need to be ready when it does."

"I know," Josh sighs, and he does. He gets up from the table, coming to sit next to Sam on the couch. Sam's hand immediately comes to rest on Josh's shoulder and Josh sighs, turns to take in Sam's smile and return it. He's finally here, in the room. With Sam.

"I don't come back for a few days yet," Sam says, and Josh nods.

"I can get it started," Josh says. "I should be the one to tell Leo."

"Are you sure?" Sam asks. "You're not the one resigning. I should - "

Josh shakes his head. "Leo knew my dad," he says quietly, and his stomach rolls in the very specific way it used to whenever Josh thought about Noah Lyman learning his only son liked men. His father's death had been a body blow to Josh, but part of him had been relieved to have outlived that conversation. Before that, he'd always been grateful he liked women enough to outrun it. 

He and Sam have never really talked about this, but it must show on his face, because Sam just squeezes his shoulder and nods. "Okay," he says quietly. "CJ?"

Josh chuckles self-deprecatingly and starts fiddling with a loose thread in his jeans. "About that," he says, and darts a look up at Sam, who just rolls his eyes. 

"How long has she known?" he asks.

"Since the election," Josh admits. "I was - when we convinced you to run, after, I was - pretty messed up."

Sam nods. They haven't really talked about that either.

"She doesn't know about this," Josh says. "But she knows we. were."

Sam nods again. "Okay," he says. "When are you going to tell Leo?"

"I don't know," Josh says. "When do you come back?"

"Friday," Sam says, tone resigned to the nonsense. The bureaucracy around his leave has been nothing short of Kafkaesque. Of course he comes back on a Friday.

"Okay," Josh says. "I'll tell him tomorrow. I'll talk to CJ too."

"Okay," Sam says. Then, "I tell Toby."

Josh turns to look at him. "Yeah?" he says quietly. He's never been the type to walk towards difficult personal conversations, but this is Sam, and Josh finds that he wants to protect him. Shield him.

Huh.

Sam nods. "When I get back," he says. "Leo and CJ can keep it to themselves for a few days."

Josh nods, and then - "The President?" 

Sam's hand stills where it's been rubbing circles into Josh's shoulder. "I'm the one resigning," he says.

"Because of me," Josh points out.

"Still," Sam says. "Quitting your job advising the leader of the free world feels like the sort of thing a man does alone."

There's nothing Josh can say to that, so he turns to lay fully in Sam's arms. Sam pulls him close, kisses the top of his head. That's the last thing Josh is aware of until Sam is waking him up to put him to bed.

* * *

Josh gets to work the next day with his stomach in complete disarray from the conversation he knows he needs to have. Unbidden, he's struck by a memory of his father joking about the pitfalls of Ashkenazi guts, and the memory is both welcome, as all memories of his father are, and terrifying, in light of what's to come. 

He pulls it together for senior staff, then follows Leo back to his office. He's got two Republican Congressmen in five minutes whom he intends to keep waiting via this meeting, followed by working out however it leaves him feeling on their skulls. 

Metaphorically.

He smiles at Margaret and walks into Leo's office, closing the door behind him. It's fine. It's the White House. The doors in this building should probably spend more time closed than they do. "You got a minute?" 

"Sure," Leo says, not looking up from the memo he's reviewing. 

"It's, uh. It's personal," Josh says, and Leo meets Josh's eyes for the first time.

"Josh, I swear to God," Leo begins, "if this involves a call girl or any form of dental work - "

"No," Josh says, smiling. "It's nothing like that." It's a little like that. He sits.

"Is it your mental health?" Leo asks, concern evident in his voice. "Do we need to bring Stanley back?"

"No!" Josh says. "Leo, please, it's nothing like that. I'm fine. I'm ... actually good." 

Leo settles in response and leans back in his chair, waiting.

Josh swallows and runs a hand over the top of his head. He looks at Leo's shoulder. "It's, uh. It's about Sam," he says. "Me and Sam. We're … me and Sam." He stops, unsure of how to continue. It occurs to him that this is the sort of conversation a better adjusted person might have planned out in advance.

Leo looks confused. "You and Sam are what?" he says.

Jesus. He's gotta say it. "Together," Josh tells Leo's right lapel. He feels very much like vomiting on Leo's carpet, which he knows for a fact is antique. Probably it's insured. Probably he wouldn't have to pay for it.

Leo's eyes widen, and he rocks back in his chair. "I gotta tell you I did not see that coming."

"No," Josh says. The urge to vomit is not going away. 

"How long?" Leo asks, and Josh risks a look at his face. The muffin he had for breakfast settles slightly when all he finds there is concern. 

"Uh." He scratches the back of his neck. "A week? Or twenty years."

"Why isn't he here telling me with you?" Leo sounds for all the world like he's angry at his 16-year-old daughter's boyfriend for not asking her to prom properly, and Josh can't hold back a faint smile.

"Believe it or not, personnel still won't let him in the building. He's got another two days." He hesitates, then says, "Leo, the last thing we want is to do anything that could hurt the president. This is only happening now because of that. Sam's going to call you in about half an hour and tell you he's submitting his resignation."

Leo's eyes widen and he leans forward, intent. "Josh. No one needs to lose their jobs over this - "

"It'll leak," Josh interrupts, the party line he and Sam rehearsed. "You know it will, you better than anyone. It doesn't matter how discreet we are, it'll leak. At least if he's out of the White House it'll take longer, and when it does you'll have political cover. It's gonna screw me on the Hill, but at least we'll just be getting screwed there instead of at every speaking engagement the President has for the foreseeable future." Josh hesitates - he and Sam hadn't talked so much about this part - but he knows there's more to say. "It's not just the politics," he continues. "He's ready to - he's done, Leo. We … " Josh is staring holes into Leo's antique rug, face burning. "We've been waiting a long time for this. I didn't think we'd ever … " Josh clears his throat, finally meets Leo's eyes again. The tenderness there sends him reeling. "Well. Anyway. He's done."

Leo nods. "He'll call me?"

"He'll call you."

Leo nods again. Josh decides to take it as a dismissal and gets up, heading for the door before he loses it. He's nearly there when Leo says, "Josh."

Josh stops, doesn't turn. "Yeah?" he says, voice mostly steady. 

"Is he, uh. He's good to you?"

Josh laughs. It's watery. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Better than I deserve."

Leo snorts, then says, softly, "Your dad would have come around."

Josh freezes, then turns. Leo is still looking at him with that expression. "It would have been hard for him at first," Leo says. "But he'd have come around. He just wanted you happy." 

There's no chance Josh can speak, so he just nods, and bolts. 

His odds of intimidating Republican Congressmen are currently somewhere in the sub-basement. "Donna!" he shouts, voice held together purely by volume. "You're gonna take a meeting for me."

* * *

He goes to see CJ after lunch. 

"Joshua!" she says as he closes the door behind him. "Joshua Yechezkel ben Noah." She beams. "What brings you here this fine day?"

Josh raises his eyebrows. "You're chipper," he notes. "And a massive shiksa, good lord. My grandpa Zeke just rolled in his grave over what you did to his name. Speaking of, how do you know my Hebrew name?"

"Toby told me," CJ replies. "Tobias Avram ben Iram." She's grinning to beat the band.

"Are you dating a member of the tribe or something?" Josh asks, in spite of himself.

"I," CJ says, "have a meeting with Rachel Stein of the Jewish Daily Forward later today. I'm practicing." She pauses. "But you're not here to talk Judaica with me. Why are you here?" 

Josh shifts uncomfortably. "You, uh … remember what we talked about last election night?"

CJ's not laughing anymore. "I do," she says slowly. "Do you - have there been developments?"

Josh nods. "He came back from California," he manages. "We - " He pauses, unsure what exactly to say.

"You can barely keep the smile off your face," CJ says, and there's a note of wonder in her voice. He looks up, and she has a look on her face he's never seen before. "This is you in love," she says. He feels himself blush like crazy as he looks away from her and stares at the ground. But he's nodding.

He looks up a minute later and says, "Ceej, he's gonna resign."

CJ's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow," she finally manages. Then, "Toby's gonna go nuclear."

Josh groans. "Don't remind me. He's gonna tell him as soon as he's allowed back in the building on Friday."

"I mean he's absolutely going to melt down, Josh," CJ says. "The Department of Energy is going to have to issue notices. We may need to declare a decontamination zone."

"CJ," Josh says. "I know."

She sighs and props her chin on her hand. "This was never really his world," she muses. "Sam's a poet. The politics of it all has never been his thing." She levels a look at Josh. "He tells us how to dream a better world, and you go out and build it."

Josh snorts. "That's one way to put it," he says. 

CJ shrugs. "Well." She pauses. "It's certainly something to think about." She traces her finger back and forth over the glass of Gail's bowl. Gail blows a stream of bubbles in response.

* * *

When Sam gets back on Friday, the first thing he does is walk into Toby's office and close the door. Josh is trying not to lurk too obviously in the Communications bullpen. He’s pretty bad at it, and winds up perched on the edge of Ginger’s desk all but biting his fucking fingernails. 

There’s shouting. There’s repeated flinging of the unfortunate Spalding ball. Josh can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can hear their voices rising and falling, and it’s making his stomach feel sour. There’s a small creature way in the back of his lizard brain, persistently poking him with a claw and asking how he could possibly be worth this to Sam. 

And then all of a sudden, there’s one of those silences in the bullpen - the kind that hits in the middle of a dinner party, always when someone is telling a completely inappropriate story - and Josh hears Toby say, frustration clear in every syllable, “ …. really thought about this?”

And Sam says, calm and measured, “Every day for twenty years.” 

Josh sees the assistants shooting glances at each other, at him, but all of a sudden he doesn’t care. He turns to Ginger, smiles, and says, “I’m gonna go get coffee. Thanks for the - thanks,” and leaves, in the opposite direction from the mess.

When Josh gets back to his office, Toby is in it. He looks only slightly more like a very angry, extremely Jewish angel of death than usual. 

"Josh," he says. He's a little bit hoarse. Josh closes the door and sits on the edge of his desk, leaving himself open for a frontal assault. 

"I wouldn't want anyone to think that I, you know, like any of you, at all," Toby starts. "But out of everyone who works here, I hate Sam the least. So I am beholden to instruct you that if you make him sad, Josh - if you make him experience sorrow in any way - then I will make you experience sorrow. And you will not enjoy it."

Josh bites down on his cheek to keep from smiling. He probably could have figured out that Toby would be the one to give him a shovel talk, but he hadn't thought about it, and he finds himself unspeakably charmed. Instead of saying any of that, he looks right at Toby and says, “I don’t intend to.”

“See that you don’t,” Toby says. He gets up and moves to leave, then turns, one hand on the doorknob and the other on top of his head. "He's way too good for you," he says. 

Josh snorts. "You're telling me."

“Josh,” Toby starts, then stops. “I mean, you know I - we - here - ” The hand on top of his head has migrated to the space between him and Josh. It's very nearly flapping.

“Oh my god,” Josh says, “stop. Go. You’re going to pull something.” But then he smiles, and nods softly, and Toby nods back, and it’s okay. 

They still haven’t told the President. 

In the end, Sam stays behind after the last senior staff meeting of the day while Josh waits in the outer office and tries to look casual, slouching against the wall as close to the Oval door as physically possible. The Secret Service agent to his right glares at him significantly. 

Josh, hands in his pockets, nods at him. “Hey.” 

The agent glares a little longer, then turns back around, apparently satisfied that Josh is about as much of a threat as the office furniture. Josh’s eyes play over the room and land on Charlie, who has an open textbook and a fat notebook in front of him. “That looks … long,” Josh says, pointing an elbow at the book. He hasn’t taken his hands out of his pockets. 

Charlie narrows his eyes and looks at Josh, calculating. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s a textbook covering the United States’ involvement in international conflicts from the founding through the present.”

“So there’s some material there,” Josh responds. Intellectually he’s aware that he sounds like an idiot, but he’s too busy straining with every cell in his body towards the door to care. 

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks. “Do you need some water? Or for someone to hit you on the head with a heavy object of some kind?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Josh says, and decides to give up on conversation and focus all his energy on listening. He is therefore perfectly positioned to hear the President snap, “Oh, for crying out loud - ” and yank open the door to the Oval, saying, “I’m sure he’s - there he is,” and point to where Josh has in fact fallen over, startled as he was by the door opening so suddenly. 

“Josh,” the President says calmly. “Join us, won’t you?” Sam, his face a mix of amusement and mild horror, helps Josh off the floor, and they follow the President into the Oval.

The door shuts behind them. “Mr. President,” Josh says, and stops, realizing that he has no earthly clue what is about to come out of his mouth and deciding to forestall whatever it might be.

“Sit,” Bartlet says. They sit, Sam in front of a half empty glass of whiskey and Josh in front of a full one that he belatedly realizes the President poured while he was keeping his foot out of his mouth by sheer will. 

“It has been explained to me,” Bartlet begins, “Sam has explained to me, that his services will no longer be available to this White House, as he has accepted an offer in the private sector. He will be changing professions entirely and becoming a house husband. When I asked him what on earth could prompt such an outrageous decision, he explained to me that he was in love.” He pauses and takes a sip - recharging - and continues. “I proceeded to congratulate him and ask who the lucky lady was, which was my first mistake. I admit to being shocked when he informed me that it was not a lucky lady but a gentleman, but I took it in stride like the Nobel laureate I am and asked if it was anyone I might know. Imagine my surprise, Joshua - nay, my shock - when one of the two men responsible for making me sound more erudite than my daughter’s cat informed me that he is running off with my Deputy Chief of Staff!” 

Josh clears his throat. “You, uh, don’t seem to need much help with the erudition there, sir,” he says.

“Ahhh, go to hell,” the President mumbles into his tumbler. “You’re stealing my speechwriter.”

Josh smiles into his glass. “Yes sir,” he says, and takes a healthy sip.

“I’ve been informed that there’s nothing I can say to change your minds,” Bartlet says, calmer now. “Sam has explained his position to me, and while it infuriates me that this is the calculus you two are stuck with, your math isn’t wrong. But I want both of you to know that I’d be more than happy to weather it if you wanted to stay, Sam.”

Sam swirls the whiskey in his right hand and takes Josh’s hand with his left. Josh, having taken another sip of whiskey at the moment Sam took his hand, does his level best to hide his shocked coughing in his shoulder. He has whiskey in his sinuses. He’s pretty sure he looks like he’s having a seizure. 

He would never know Sam was nervous if he couldn’t feel Sam’s grip. 

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Sam is saying. “I can’t tell you how honored I am by that. But I can’t put this White House through another scandal. And … I’m ready to move on.” He squeezes Josh's hand. Josh is seriously considering the possibility that he might die. 

Bartlet sighs, then turns. “Josh?”

Josh, mostly recovered from his fit a second ago, discreetly wipes his mouth on his cuff and says, “At this point, Mr. President, I’m just doing what he tells me.”

Bartlet smiles and nods. “Entreat me not to leave you, or to turn back from following after you,” he says, much more quietly. His elbows are on his knees, glass in his hand, and he’s gazing at nothing. “For wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God.” Sam’s hand tightens on Josh’s. He hadn’t actually thought that was possible. 

Bartlet looks back at them then, and smiles. “All right, finish your whiskey and go,” he says. “Sam, start working on the transition tomorrow.” 

He stands. They stand. “Yes sir,” Sam says. He doesn’t drop Josh’s hand until he’s opening the door into the outer office.

* * *

Josh knows he should have argued. He should have offered to quit himself, or told Sam to stay and damn the torpedoes. He worries sometimes that Sam will come to resent him for it. But the job is who Josh is in a way it never was for Sam, and they both know it. Sam could take the bullet and be okay. Josh might have done it if he absolutely had to, but they both know he might not have recovered. 

Lying in bed that night with Sam tucked up beside him like a promise, Josh can feel acutely the preciousness of what he has, and he knows in his bones that this is it for him. He never thought he’d actually have it. He will hold on to it with his teeth, if necessary. 


End file.
